


Decadence

by woefulPotatoes



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Edgeplay, M/M, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Self indulgence, they totally had these back then right, this fic is what you call
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:26:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23455489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woefulPotatoes/pseuds/woefulPotatoes
Summary: There was something to the way of him that had never failed to enchant me – that I had begun to see in more and more things around me. Things of no import: the titter of finches in the early hours, the incandescent light of an icicle in a chill winter morning, the fragrance of his sugared teas drifting to my bed-chamber. Things that had come to mean everything.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 7
Kudos: 49





	Decadence

**Author's Note:**

> Trying to maintain the proper diction throughout scenes like these is just dreadful. The constant struggle between accurate, or appealing to the modern viewer ie cock vs penis :/ Also, decent characterisation, who?
> 
> Anyway.

“Ferdinand, what was the name of the woman that visited four days ago about the missing peacock?” I called out my bed-chamber door.

“I cannot recall, but I think you should find her name in yester-day’s paper. She did mention that she had posted to the agonies,” he shouted back from the sitting room.

“Would you fetch it for me, I’m indisposed at the moment,” I said as I briskly walked back to my desk, and set again to deciphering a string of particularly vexing code. Presently, I heard footsteps on the stair and the rustling of paper.

“It is not like you to forget something like this, love. Are you quite alright...”

He stopped abruptly in the door, and I straightened from my stoop over the desk to turn around and look at him. His face flashed between surprise and confusion as he gave me a look over.

“Where are you clothes?” he asked, setting the paper on the dresser by the door and striding over to me, “You will catch cold.”

“I would appreciate you not coddling me like a nursemaid to her charge,” I said without maliciousness.” I gestured towards the foolscap on my desk and the strange icons of dancing men.

“You were decoding the secret language of a cultist organisation in the nude?”

“No. I was preparing myself to seduce you when I spied the drawings there, and suddenly discovered a breakthrough. This irksome thing has bested me for nearly a week; I could not let it alone until I had solved it.”

A small smile set dimples on his handsome face.

“You were going to seduce me?”

“Is that the only thing you think about?” I loomed over him, pulling a strand of his hair through my fingers, “Sex?”

“Hmm. I think about… what I would wear to-day. I think about how much I enjoy walking in the park courtyard when the white roses are in full bloom. I think about the pot of tea you always put on for me before I come home, that clears the worry I might carry with me from the surgery. I think I would like to go to the opera again soon. I would not press you to go, of course. Sometimes, I think of my old horses and hope they are living well… I think of you, pretending to brood in your dark corners, but the line of your back gives you away. Well, it gives something away. I have not yet divined what it is exactly.” He combed the hair away from my face with a hand and looked deeply into my eyes, “And yes, I think about you. Like this.”

I silenced him with a slow deep kiss, the subtle sweetness of peaches on his tongue.

“You bought my favourite coffee.”

“That was intended to be a surprise,” he huffed.

“It might be, if you ever manage to go to that café without spoiling yourself on peach tarts.”

“Or perhaps I will just not kiss you again.”

“Unforgivable,” I drawled, dipping into his mouth again, running my tongue over his sharp teeth, aligning our bodies. He took me by the hips and massaged over the muscle there, framing me in his arms. We moved in a slow undulating fashion, as lazy currents against the solid rocks on the shore. I soothed my palms over the outside of his arms, feeling the deceptive fitness beneath his dressing gown. As I bit at his tongue, I pulled the silk garment from his shoulders to pool at his elbows, the material caressing my bare legs. He relinquished my hips in irritation to flounder free of the gown, reaching for the buttons at his front, but I gently moved his hands away, and he returned them to fondle at my rear.

The lines of his lithe form beckoned to me from beneath his waistcoat, so I pulled at the hem and slid my fingers under his crisply ironed shirt, warming my hands on the small of his exposed back. Idly I traced the line of his spine with my middle finger, up and down each dip and peak, the soft and supple skin there. He sighed into my mouth then pulled away, trailing down to the crook of my neck and drawing a great breath through his nose, as deeply as one would the freshness of a winter’s day after the stale air of a cellar, or the brisk invigorating wind from the sea. He grasped vigorously at my rear again, intending to heft me up, but stopped short.

“What is this,” he said quizzically, fingers brushing at the hard plug inside me.

“Preparation,” I grunted as he graciously jostled it from side to side.

“Hmm,” he smiled, “it is quite enjoyable,” now pulling its stout length in and out with reserved tugs.

“Come here,” I growled, clutching at his lapel and drawing him towards my bed. He untied his laces and politely placed his shoes together on the floor as I looked on, fond. He went down on his back in a puff of sheets, and I ran my hands up his trousered legs, moving inexorably up his body, deliberately undoing one button of his waistcoat at a time, until I kneeled over his chest, flaccid cock hovering by his chin. He urged me further with two hands behind my upper thighs, and kissed the crook of my hip, sucking a red mark there.

“Is this a preference of yours?” he asked.

“How do you mean.”

“Last time we were in this position, you were completely clothed; and this time you are bare to your skin, while insisting on wrinkling my waistcoat.”

I stopped short.

“You did not notice?”

“Is it relevant?”

“No, I do not mind it,” he said, kissing the tip of my cock into his mouth.

“Then I will not call attention to your nervous habit.”

He looked at me quizzically, and I gestured toward his hands kneading at my rear.

“Oh.” He gaped sheepishly. “Does it bother you?”

“No, I do not mind it. And pray, continue.”

He took me in his mouth again, leisurely sucking at the head, hands holding me firmly in place or moving me closer as needed. He appeared to be enjoying himself, eyes dropping in contentment; and it was comforting, how easy it was to be like this with him. There was a melancholy little pang in my heart as I thought it.

“You are not very good, are you,” I goaded.

He snapped his eyes up at me, a challenge shining in them, a fetching furrow in his brow. He swiftly took in another inch, all determination and confidence, and I could not stifle a chuckle. Gently I touched at his temples, following him as he bobbed his head, enveloping me in his soothing heat. I could see he was attempting to take me entirely – an ambitious goal considering my length – tears starting at the edges of his eyes, but he seemed to think better of it, and pulled back out to the head, placing a hand over my shaft. His fingers slid deftly over my me, his tongue licking vigorously at the crown, and I began to feel, in earnest, that burning intensity building in my gut. Shortly, I felt the pressure of the plug at my rim, and I breathed in sharply. Ferdinand worked both hands on me, at first his movements halting and uncoördinated, but quickly finding a rhythm. I was rocked back and forth, afixed delightfully between two equal pleasures. The bulk of the plug inside me stretched at my rim with an acutely painful pleasure, and I felt a wetness leaking through, the arduous trickle of it down the inside of my thigh. Each breath I drew grew deeper, my eyes threatening to close. I was properly taken now, unable to control the undulating of my hips, the heat spreading and soon to be immediate, so I pressed more firmly with my hands to halt the bob of Ferdinand’s head.

“Stop.”

Immediately he did so, a look of concern on his face, but I angled down to kiss his brow.

“There is nothing wrong. You did well; too well, in fact.”

“How can there be anything as too well if you have not yet climaxed?”

“Because there is a plan, and I will not have you foil it.”

I crawled down to his waist and sat on his legs, undoing the strained buttons of his trousers. I took a moment to appreciate his pink cock emerging from the folds of his clothes before I leant down and took him fully between my teeth.

“Hubert!” he exclaimed, “I know I am not large but - “

I silenced him with a violent suck, and he bucked his hips with a surprised gasp, a hand flying to my hair.

“But be careful,” he chastised.

I set upon him with my tongue until he was nearly flush, spittle glistening from crown to base. I straightened, pulling the plug out with a wet sound, and reached up to place it in a dish on the bedside table, Ferdinand stealing a kiss as he went.

“Oh, that is… much larger than I was aware. I would not have used you so diligently had I know, love.”

“Yes.”

I bit at his throat softly, and with his attention sufficiently diverted, I aligned myself with his awaiting cock. Without ceremony I lowered onto his lap, generous lubrication escaping from me as I penetrated myself on him.

Ferdinand groaned and put both hands to my folded legs.

“Your plans are regularly awful,” he said.

“How does this one fare?”

“I will not last.”

“I’m afraid we’ve just begun.”

I settled into his lap, becoming accustomed to the stretch of him inside me, sharing his heat, his length brushing against my prostate. I rolled my hips forward, grinding over Ferdinand, clenching tightly and pulling a pleasured sound from him. I brought a hand to myself, teasing at the slit with a thumb, gradually spreading slick down my shaft, never letting my gaze stray from him. He had propped himself up on his elbows, watching me with darkened eyes and a look of almost awe.

“You are beautiful.”

This was not the first time he had said such a thing, and surely not the last, but it hurt somehow anyway.

“What does flattery achieve at a time like this? I’m already sitting on your cock,” I said, bouncing once on his lap. He let out a short gasp that subsided into a chortle.

“I am merely making an observation. There are no motives in my love for you.” He paused a moment, then smiled at his own cleverness. “You are, therefore I love.”

“Insipid,” I scoffed, leaning down to kiss him, my hands framing his chest, attempting to convey with my lips what could scarcely be described in words.

I ground down upon him again, and he whimpered sweetly. I withdrew, returning to my hardened length, rolling my testicles in the other hand. Ferdinand followed me, goaded by my quiet vocalisation perhaps, sitting upright and placing hands around my waist, drawing towards my chest to suck at a nipple. I watched him, face illuminated in a patch of golden light, humming small moans and sighs into my skin as I moved on his cock, pale eyelashes fluttering; and when he turned his gaze to look at me, I saw every whorl and line in his amber eyes glowing like the sun itself. His hands roamed over my body, a thumb depressed in the dip of my navel, the pads of his fingers at the sides of my ribs, feather light and bordering on dizzying. I pulled more fiercely over my leaking cock, abdominals flexing and sending a shock up my spine as Ferdinand pressed deeper into me. He came to kiss me again, a hand now cupping the back of my head to guide me to his plush lips. I tipped forward, crowding over him, both of us rolling in unison and chasing our shared gratification.

I was compelled by the heat surging under my skin to release – with a desperate plunge upon his cock, to bring Ferdinand in pleasure with me – but just as the feeling threatened to overcome me, I pushed against his chest and down to the bed. I stood to my knees, Ferdinand crying out as he slipped from me, rutting up into nothing as I held his arms down.

“Hubert, what – do not stop,” he pleaded, panting and ruddy cheeked.

I merely watched as he eased back down, breath slowing and jerking hips subsiding. He squirmed under me, thighs crossing tightly over his erection.

“Why must you be so vexing,” he grouched.

“It is not with any ill intent.”

“None at all?”

“None.”

I let him arms free and leant back to appreciate my work. He had lost his waistcoat at some point, which hung over the edge of the bed. His shirt was handsomely dishevelled, several buttons undone to reveal the pale jut of his collarbones, cuffs of his sleeves loose and draping over his exposed forearms. His trousers had slid halfway down his thighs, cock still standing at attention, red and wet with our combined efforts.

“How was your day to-day?” he asked, plainly.

I was a bit unprepared for such a line of inquiry, and it was a moment before I could reconcile the banality of the question with the exceptional state of the person who had made it.

“Despite everything,” I said, moving up his lap, “it is well.”

“I am glad for that,” he smiled, idly taking us both in hand, “I thought you had tired of me.”

“Upon the reception of a bottle of fine brandy, the hasty man consumes it, and the patient man savours it; and I,” sliding once more onto his cock, “am a very patient man.”

Ferdinand gripped the headboard, muscled arms held taut with wanting, and he bucked up into me with a plaintive grunt. Quickly I found myself shuddering into my palm, sensitive and sore, acutely aware of the pressure from Ferdinand’s thickened length, rubbing raw and hard at my inner walls. The cushioned slide of my swollen testicles over the downy patch of hair below his navel, the throbbing curve of my cock in my soiled hands. Ferdinand’s shirt had rucked up to reveal his supple stomach, his heaving chest pulling at the small buttons, copper locks weaving like vines around his arms.

He hit upon my prostate again, and I clenched tightly in retaliation. With an impassioned gasp he released inside me, an intense and ardent flood, powerful thighs nearly lifting me from the bed, but I did not relent. I retreated to the crown of his cock and then back to the hilt, his seed facilitating my gratifying rush, the saturated sodden sounds loud against my own reserved gasps and Ferdinand’s silent orgasm – his face the very vision of transcendent splendour. I pounded him into myself, one hand pumping furiously up and down my length, the other clutching for balance at Ferdinand’s chest; my hips aching and legs smarting, but so close that I could scarcely think of anything else, my mind awash in blissful arcing colours. And again, at that very brink of completion, I withdrew from Ferdinand’s cock, burying my face in the crook of his dewy neck, clinging to the bedclothes, the tip of my still-erect member springing up to touch my fluttering stomach. I gasped great lungfuls of air, rear protruding upwards, desperate to keep from touching myself, and swimming in the endorphins of near-release, sound of my heartbeat drumming incessantly in my ears.

When my pulse refused to settle and my respiration still quick and moaning, Ferdinand placed a hand to my neck, a concerned sound at the back of his throat. He flipped our positions in an agile twist of legs, jostling my vulnerable cock in the process, and I cried out at the contact.

“Hubert, are you hurt?” unbridled worry in his voice.

I shook my heavy head upon the pillow, and took his hand, kissing the inside of his wrist deliberate and unhurried.

“I thought I might indulge myself,” I sighed, and he looked down to see my still-erect cock.

“Goddess knows you do not deserve it,” he said, setting upon my red and aching length with a fevered pleasure-pain, nerve endings alight at the zealous draw of his palms. It was not three pumps before I released over myself, shaking with exhaustion and completely satisfied.

Ferdinand watched as the tension fled my body; he tucked a lock of hair behind his ear, trailed his index over the mess on my chest, tracing swooping patterns with my semen, circling around my nipples leisurely, exploring the dip of my navel. There was something to the way of him that never failed to enchant me – that I had begun to see in more and more things around me. Things of no import: the titter of finches in the early hours, the incandescent light of an icicle in a chill winter morning, the fragrance of his sugared teas drifting to my bed-chamber. Things that had come to mean everything.

“I will be back,” he intoned, and pushed off the bed, disappearing into the hall. A faint clamour arose from the other room, the clink of ceramic and the gurgle of water, the scuff of his leather shoes on the hardwood. He returned with a basin and linen cloth, and, dipping it into the warm water, began to wipe my chest clean.

“You are too good to me,” I said in a subdued voice.

“It is not anything that you have not done for me; but you are welcome.”

The careful glide of the damp cloth was bliss on my grateful skin, Ferdinand massaging my lax limbs as he went. He drew my leg up, mouthing kisses from ankle to hip, then wiping between my legs, dipping in a warm finger and drawing out his own lingering seed. Lastly, he put the basin and cloth away, and joined me on the bed, drawing up the bedclothes and cocooning me in his embrace.

“Now, what was that about the peacock?”

**Author's Note:**

> Longfic that accompanies this is in the works.
> 
> I want to try and post at least every other Wednesday.


End file.
